


What Heart May Feel and Soul May Touch

by Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), I'm Bad At Tagging, One Shot, One True Pairing, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Slow Romance, TROS is Terrible, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium/pseuds/Ben_Solo_Good_Boy_Sweater_Emporium
Summary: “I didn’t think you’d ever want to talk to me again,” he says softly.“Don’t,” she answers. “You were just as angry as I was.”“It didn’t last,” he admits.“For me, either.”Post-TLJ Rey and Ben have a talk via Force Bond.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 16
Kudos: 103





	What Heart May Feel and Soul May Touch

The first thing Rey feels as she wakes is the warmth and weight of him curved around her body.

She is supposed to be alone in her own quarters, a closet of a space set aside for her in the latest Resistance base. The room is in almost total darkness; lack of back-up generators means they have only a few hours of solar-generated power each night before mandatory lights out. But she isn’t afraid. If she were being honest with herself, the smallest corner of her mind might admit that she feels relieved. _Finally_. It has been weeks since she last saw him, heard his voice, felt his fingertips for the briefest instant of dizzying connection.

Ben is deeply asleep. The Force radiates off him in muted waves, like the grey seas of Ahch-To on a rare, still afternoon. His face nestles in the curve of her throat, soft strands of hair slipping across her cheek. She feels each breath pass his lips and meet her skin, an invisible pulse connecting them again and again. Her arms are already wrapped around him, and with only slight hesitation she slides her fingers through the tangled curls at the top of his head, nudging him a fraction closer.

Things have been chaotic since the battle on Crait. The Resistance struggled to find a new location from which to operate. When they finally settled on this uninhabited moon in the Outer Rim, it was a race against time to construct shelters, identify native resources, cultivate potential local allies. As the only owner of a working ship, Rey has been busy with supply runs and shuttling missions. Donations of ancient equipment and battered vehicles, and even a few recruits, are just starting to trickle in.

But in the center of the tumult, Rey is a blank spot, an emptiness where a person should be. She appreciates the resolve of those around her, respects their commitment to the hard work of rebuilding the cause they all chose. But she feels curiously detached from all of it. When Rose was finally released from the sick bay and Finn began to spend more time in her company, Rey noticed but wasn’t unhappy. When Poe hung around the _Falcon_ in his few off-hours, an amused Chewie had to inform Rey that he was obviously flirting with her. The strongest responses she could muster were mild annoyance and a hint of embarrassment.

All her fiercest emotions center on the man currently asleep in her embrace. After Crait, she beat them back, locking them away for some uncertain future reckoning. But lying here in the dark, Ben’s legs tangled with hers and his arm possessively slung across her hips, Rey unbars the secret door inside herself and mentally braces for an onslaught. It doesn’t come.

She isn’t angry. She knows she should be, but she isn’t. It’s impossible to hate someone when you have been in his mind, known his suffering and loneliness as intimately as you know your own. She can feel the Light inside Ben even now. She reaches for it, as she would warm her hands in front of a welcoming fire.

Ben sighs against the spot just below her ear, then draws in a deep, slow breath. His Force signature sparks and hums as he wakes. Rey knows the instant he realizes he is not alone. His entire frame tenses and she feels the rapid brush of his eyelashes on her neck when he blinks in confusion.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, projecting calm toward him. _Truce_. She isn’t precisely sure why she says it—why is _she_ reassuring _him_?—but those are the words that come when she opens her mouth.

He is silent for a long time. His heart beats powerfully enough that she can feel its staccato rhythm through the fabric of their sleeping clothes. His fingers twitch once against the curve of her back, but he makes no move to pull farther away.

“Where are you?” he finally asks.

“My room. I’m guessing that’s where you are, too?”

He nods, hair grazing the lobe of her ear. She tries, without much success, to suppress a shiver.

“This is still happening, then?”

“So it would appear.”

“Snoke was a liar.”

“Obviously.” His voice is bitter. Rey has only the vaguest understanding of his history with Snoke, but she survived the backbiting and viciousness of Jakku long enough to recognize a master manipulator when she sees one. Just standing in his presence on the _Supremacy_ made her skin crawl, and raised such a well of hatred that the power of it frightened her. _Maybe it wasn’t entirely mine?_ On some instinctual level, she wanted to protect Ben from him as much as herself. Possibly more.

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to talk to me again,” he says softly.

“Don’t,” she answers. “You were just as angry as I was.”

“It didn’t last,” he admits.

“For me, either.”

“You wanted to stay,” he says, his mouth forming each word against her collarbone. “I felt it. Why wouldn’t you stay, Rey?”

Her eyes prickle uncomfortably. “I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t.”

“But you wanted to. You wanted to take my hand. Tell me I’m wrong.”

There’s no point in lying. They can’t hide from each other.

“I did want to take your hand. Ben’s hand.” It seems important to make that distinction.

The words hang in the air between them. Rey is glad he can’t see her clearly. Her cheeks are hot. Her fingers tremble in his hair.

He shifts slightly, drawing back to focus on her face.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

“It’s too dark. I can’t really see you.”

“I can see you. Rey, look at me, _please_.”

The tone of his voice sends a tremor skipping along her spine. She looks down. A sliver of light below the hallway door allows her to see only the outline of his profile. Slowly, as if afraid she’ll recoil, Ben trails his hand from her hip along the length of her arm, tracing a line up her neck and across her cheek. Rey is keenly aware of the sounds of their breath.

“I vowed to destroy you,” he says gently. “What a fool I am. Weak.”

Rey rests a hand over his heart. “Opening yourself to someone isn’t weakness. It’s strong. Brave. I’ve never….” She can’t finish the sentence.

“Neither have I,” he answers, because he sees the truth in her mind even when she can’t bring herself to speak it.

She hears the echo of footsteps outside her door as someone passes by the room. It’s late but there are constantly people awake and working on the base. The absurdity of the situation strikes her. On the other side of that paper-thin wall, the Resistance is scrambling to reassemble itself, to amass a fighting force capable of defeating the First Order. And here she is, in a midnight encounter with its new leader, their greatest enemy. She ought to feel ashamed. She ought to push him away, order him to get out of her sight and never dare to speak to her again. When they next meet, it will be on the field of battle. She will show him no mercy, cut him down without a second thought. The idea is sickening. Her stomach clenches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes are still trained on the door.

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. What are we doing, Ben? Why is the Force bringing us together like this?”

“Maybe the Force isn’t bringing us together. Maybe it’s just _allowing_ us to be together. Maybe it’s letting us have something we both obviously want.” Even in the blackness she can feel the intensity of his eyes.

“But what if we shouldn’t want it?”

“The Force doesn’t seem to care. Maybe we shouldn’t, either.”

Ben raises himself up on his elbow, blocking what little light there is. As he drifts nearer, all the air leaves Rey’s lungs in a soft rush.

“The Resistance would certainly care if they knew you were here. The First Order would care if they knew whose bed their Supreme Leader was spending the night in.”

“I’m in my own bed.” She thinks he might be smirking. “You’re my guest.”

“You know what I mean,” she protests weakly.

“I want to kiss you,” he says abruptly. He sounds surprisingly young and unsure of himself. “But I won’t if you don’t want me to. Tell me what you want, Rey.”

What does she want? It isn’t a question she allows herself to ask. Her life has always been about survival, pure and simple. Chasing anything beyond basic sustenance is a waste of energy. Her short time with the Resistance hasn’t changed her outlook on that. And yet, hasn’t there always been one thing she has longed for, even during the endless years on Jakku? In the coldest hours of the night, she would allow herself to imagine the feeling of being wanted. Of belonging. Of being claimed by someone as their own. She always assumed it would be her lost parents who returned to fill the chasm inside her. But they never came back. More recently, Maz urged her to let go of the past, and look to the future for belonging—moments before she met Ben in a dark forest.

Ben, lying next to her right now in this tiny room, begging her to admit that she cares for him. Ben, who grew up just as isolated and afraid as she did, who must also have dreamed of being claimed by someone in love. She can almost see him as he was then, awkward and quiet, achingly shy. Filled with an immense power he didn’t understand, feeling misunderstood and dangerous. Better off alone but desperately lonely.

_Like me._

Rey feels a rush of tenderness. She reaches for Ben, tugging him down. It’s a rather graceless kiss. She presses her lips hard against his and stays very still, trying to express all her confused emotions through that single point of contact. The Force sings around them.

She pushes him back, a bit more sharply than she intends. It’s hard to breathe.

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I disagree.” How can his voice possibly be deeper?

“I mean out there. It doesn’t change anything between us out there.”

He traces her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “What about here?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.

But when he brushes his lips against hers a second time, she doesn’t push him away.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece comes from my favorite e.e. cummings poem, "the great advantage of being alive."


End file.
